Indefinite
by Lyra Soren
Summary: ...a pair of observing eyes, meeting his for a fraction of second...
1. Chapter 1

**Indefinite**

"Leadership to me means duty, honor and wisdom," his father once instructed him, "one shall leave parts of his character in others, bestowing his example. One should never indulge laziness or disobedience. In other words, one should be impartial and strict."

These words always served to remind him of why people put their trust in him, or of his duties as the captain to the tennis club. He used to repeat them to himself like a mantra that would steel his spirit, his mind, until these words were imprinted in his mind, as if he had been their forger.

From what he remembers he has never failed anyone's expectations of him, every responsibility had been met with steady seriousness, determination that led to successful outcomes. He had never broken a promise, or let anyone down when they needed him. And examples stood as an invisible witness to that. He had been Segaku's pillar of support for some years now, had sacrificed his arm over and over again for the sake of not disappointing their former buchou and for the team.

He had intransigently put aside his own desires, his wants, his self, to the extent where he had lost track of his horizon. Diligent, he trained every night, in his dreams, outside the practice hours, whenever his homework took less time to take care of. Tennis has remained the only source of life for him, the sole passion to sustain his insatiable craving for alteration.

Part of him knew too well that beyond this phrase, lurked real life. Bliss that waited for no one, no matter how much you avoided it, dragged you along effortlessly, out of your shell, blunt, unadulterated, and always a challenge. Ryoma was the equivalent of life, Tezuka never doubted it. In the same fashion Tezuka regarded life; he followed Ryoma's every move with fascination and reserve.

He watched him on and off the court – during team meetings, practice, at Kawamura's sushi shop whenever they celebrate another victory, and sometimes during his periods, when he should have overseen the entire club. With every gaze, a part of Ryoma would became his point of gravity for days – eyelids closed in annoyance, smirk that attested talent, the perfect curve of his waist, the round shape of his knee.

He would realize too late that he crossed the line already, between his duty and his desire, between what he had been taught and what he was being taught- by Ryoma, by life – too late, because Ryoma had started to look back. Even when he was caught in the act, he couldn't make himself avert his eyes. He should have been embarrassed, should have listened to his conscience and not move closer, should have screamed "duty" and "wisdom" , and definitely "not right", yet no word escaped his sealed lips, sealed by Ryoma's rare and knowing smile, silenced by soundless clatters on the pavement heading towards him.

Tezuka fought every law of nature that pulled him forward, sucked his will shrinking it to a point, as insignificant as whatever images his mind conjured of the worst possible scenario. He bit his lips drawing blood, his nails digging in his palms, however, his legs wouldn't listen, wouldn't respond. Ryoma was one meter away, if he extended his arms and pulled him closer, he could embrace him, make him grasp, leaning further in his warmth. No. Not now. Not ever. Finally he managed to take a step back, putting enough distance between them, so he wouldn't do something foolish.

"Buchou?" Tezuka wished he was deaf, at least this one time. His resolve crumbled at once. He walked past Echizen, avoiding making eye contact or even brushing their shoulders with the motion. "Echizen, get on court D, now." He could feel the wide grin, and the whispering of the words "Mada mada dane," and understood that he had just sealed his fate with his own hands. Maybe someday he would give in and take chances, would get careless enough to pin Echizen on the pole of the net and kiss him open mouthed. But not today.


	2. Chapter 2

**Taking for granted**

He used to refrain himself from yelling outside the tennis court, and even then, on rare occasions when it was needed. He used to. On a daily basis, he enjoys the quietness of secluded places, where he can hear his thoughts and even read a book without being disturbed. Except that he can't. Not when he has been staring at the same page for over an hour.

Somewhere near, the low gush of a stream can be heard through the opened window, its coolness sending chills and prickling the skin. On days like these, a sweet and musty fragrance will always impregnate itself on the pages of the books, giving off the same sense of time passing as a fossil. He handled each book with the utmost care, ever since he came to work part-time in this bookshop, two months ago.

It is one of those times, when he has worked with determination, thus earning a few free hours for his reading. He was immersed in a novel, his eyes focused, and his mind in a total sync with the events, galloping forward to find new clues in order to solve the mystery. The entrance bell chimes. Tezuka is evidently deprived of knowing the identity of the newcomer.(Or maybe a puzzling clue eats up all his attention.)

He doesn't notice the muffled footsteps heading towards him. Someone should have warned him that since it was summer holiday, he would receive uninvited guests. This kind of wishful thinking is pointless, especially when he is startled by the shuffle of the chair beside him. He doesn't look up. He perceives a grunt, and rustling of pages, until there is silence again. Shortly after, as an ankle is rubbed against his, soothing, unlikely and unfamiliar; he directs a glance towards his neighbor.

The stupor at seeing Echizen, seated centimeters apart from him, is enough to render him adrift. Officially high school freshmen, he doesn't seem to have changed, and incidentally he has the same effect on Tezuka as he had two months ago. It took him a year to decide that he will not make a move on his kohai, now willingly since he has been delegated captain of the tennis club not long before.

The contours of the bookshop slowly blur, and the letters take fluid forms draining out of his mind. He tightens his grip, reveling at the thought of having a racket in his hand and not a book. Soon it is just the two of them and the thumping of Tezuka's heart which is getting louder, reanimated to life by this presence only. He hears it in his ears, the sound doubled by its meaning, like an echo that still reverberates even when the source has died out.

Is he imagining it or has Ryoma moved closer? He is already wheezing, all his vitals discomposed, his hands begin sweating and his legs feel too warm where they made contact. He has surpassed the state of carelessness; he should have been out the first moment he realized Ryoma was in the same room with him. Now, after half an hour, he finally stands, ready to leave and pretend this never happened. He takes deep calming breaths.A little vexed, he heads for the exit. He is out.

The evening air is refreshing, as the sun drapes him in light and shade. His glasses glint, and he is a little dazed by the brightness, after spending most of his day in semi obscurity. The few seconds spent in gauging his surroundings are enough for another person to open the door of the bookshop, consequently bumping into him, making him lose his balance for a minute.

"Be more attentive!" He barks in his deep voice, forgetting for a brief instant that he is not on a tennis court ordering laps. For the first time that day he is rendered speechless. Before him is none other than Echizen. He doesn't seem taken aback by the brashness of Tezuka's voice, however, his head is cocked to the side and his eye brow is raised, the smirk hidden in the depths of those golden irises.

"Echizen." Tezuka acknowledges grudgingly. _Yudan sezu ni ikou, _he tries to calm himself, repeating the phrase like a plead for nothing to happen.

"Buchou." Echizen's voice is full of amusement, the smiles he promises. It stops Tezuka's breath every time.

"Echizen, what are you doing here?" The words tumble out of his mouth with difficulty.

"Oh, that. Just an essay; you know, summer homework and stuff. What about you?" He asks, taking a step closer.

"I work here."

"Heh…it suits you. " Silence follows; they just continue staring at each other, consuming all the lines, and all the tracings. Like touching to memorize every detail of a person, but with just sight.

Something in those cat-like eyes prompts Tezuka to utter, against his better judgment, the following words:

"If you ever need help with your essays…" Their meaning registers too late to be taken back.

"I know. " Tezuka fears to ask how much Ryoma suspects. He nods, "Excuse me," as he turns to leave. He is surprised at how easy it has been for him to just accept the truth. He is halted by a well known voice.

"Buchou?" Tezuka looks behind to see Echizen in that same spot, his brows knitted in deep musing.

"Aa?" He almost whispers, yet when he sees a shy smile becoming visible on the aforementioned boy, he knows exactly what the question is.

"Bring your books and racket. See you tomorrow, Echizen."

"Che, of course." And it is for this genuine smile that Tezuka has approved.


	3. Chapter 3

**Transitory**

He waits all day, but no one comes. He doesn't call. Not even once. He thought he knew him well enough, after so much time. Apparently not. The dusted books seem to be a better companion, until a gray bubble of fur rubs his ankle and slips between his legs just to rest on his sneakers, blinking slowly from blue round eyes, very familiar, reminding him of Fuji. He kneels down to tug the cat into his arms, when he sees the white collar around its neck. Surprisingly it is a note. He unfolds it, and it says:

_Buchou,_

_This is Karupin. Take good care of him. I won't be able to come for a while. My stupid dad insisted we should go to the onsen for a fort night. I told him I had prior plans, but the half-wit didn't want to hear about it. I just couldn't leave you there alone._

_Ryoma._

The corners of his mouth turn upwards. It's so rare to see a thoughtful Ryoma nowadays. He scoops Karupin up with one arm, planning to detour to the market after work to buy some cat food. It's his first time bringing a pet to his house, and hopes his parents will not disapprove. He never considered buying a cat or a dog. Luckily, his grandfather grew fond of fish and created the pond in the courtyard.

This is the same cat that got lost in middle school. He still remembers the expression of longing on Echizen's face when they brought it back to him. Karupin is his little treasure, and Ryoma left him with Tezuka. The gesture in itself spoke louder than those few words in the note. In a sense, he is grateful for the honor, but still, spending a day with Ryoma is what he dreamed of for these past few years. He sighs. He should learn not be picky, otherwise the cat might copy his bad habit.

Karupin yowling is calling to mind a bratty version of "madamadadane", as he jumps in Tezuka's lap while he reads the inconsistent little letters from Ryoma. They never come written on paper; instead somehow he discovers that even a can of Ponta can be used to write something on. The recipients of the letter vary from unagi (written in capital letters: Come here too), to an unopened can of tennis balls.

Tezuka doesn't mind, he keeps all of these objects, except for the eatable ones, which he shares half with the cat. He writes his replies on neat white sheets of paper, unable to be persuaded by Ryoma to write on whatever he likes. Ryoma doesn't forget in each "letter" to ask about Karupin first, not to spoil the real reason why he writes.

Days succeed in the same manner, Tezuka arranging books in identical piles, by categories and genres, wiping away the dust with care, and restoring ripped pages or covers, when it's the case. He soon figures out Karupin's routines: jumping on his stomach in the morning minutes before the alarm is set to go off, lazily mewing when he is hungry, (Tezuka couldn't leave him at home), rubbing around his feet until he had to scoop him into his arms, and then fluttering closed his eyelids in a relaxed way that was similar to the golden cat-eyed freshman. They both miss Ryoma in their own way. Karupin will go to the window sill and fling his tail back and forth, once in a while scratching its own reflection, just to lick the slippery surface, afterwards. Tezuka is more subtle, he stills for moments with the duster in his hand, lost in thoughts, reminiscing; or he just plays a Nintendo game, despite knowing he will lose badly.

The regulars come by to keep him company. Oishi worries that the quantity of dust he is inhaling is bad for his health, while Eiji takes out books and throws them in a bundle of "boring" over and over that makes Tezuka twitch each time, until he is reprimanded by Oishi. Kaidoh invites him to jogging sessions, which he rarely accepts. Kawamura brings him sushi, and politely informs him about the rest of his friends. Momoshiro never comes alone, often hand in hand with Ann, and they discuss mostly Tachibana and the following tournaments. It's more convenient for Inui and Fuji to join sides when they are trying to drag Tezuka out of his "monotony". They both smile warmly at Karupin, and knowingly at him.

Only once it occurred to them to make a gathering point out of Tezuka's bookshop. Tezuka doesn't want to imagine how it was possible to breathe with seven other people in a restricted space of the entrance hall. Least of all he doesn't want to recall the incident between Momoshiro and Kaidoh that consequently led to both knocking an entre shelf of books to the ground. His outrage had been enough for him to assign 100 laps to the whole team, around the entire neighborhood. That did the trick, and they never came all together again.

"Ne Tezuka, do you know where ochibi is?" Eiji asks one day, still half pouty for his rebuke.

"Yeah, we haven't heard from him for at least a week." Replies Oishi.

"He is at the onsen." Tezuka comments with half a mind, the other half thinking that there are only five days until he will see Ryoma again.

"How long have you known this?" Oishi asks frowning.

"Since last week."

"And you didn't tell us?Buchou, you can be so mean!" Eiji scolds teasingly.

"Aa. It wasn't my intention." Tezuka is brought back from his reverie. "I thought you knew."

"Of course not. When I see that ochibi I am going to scold him good." Eiji mimics his hand flung around Tezuka's shoulder. "No, you won't." Oishi warns him, and they all laugh at the puppy innocent eyes of Eiji.

Ryoma returns at least four days earlier and in fact visits the bookshop the very next day, telling Tezuka that he ran away from home, until he receives an incredulous look, prompting him to stop beating around the bush. In reality, he just wants to spend some time with Tezuka in compensation for his broken promise. Tezuka assents only after he makes sure that Ryoma will let him accompany him all the way to home each evening.

As soon as he sees the trim of different things sent by him at the expanse of one week and a half, he covers his mouth to suppress his giggle, as he directs an indecipherable glance at him. He calms himself, yet Tezuka knows the small twinkle of mirth, that Ryoma cannot hide from his eyes. He turns to face Tezuka, while his hand is in his knapsack, rummaging through for a few seconds until he finds what he was looking for. He hands Tezuka an envelope. Inside, to Kunimitsu bewilderment, are all of his letters.

"Missed me, Buchou?" Ryoma asks while smirking at him. "I bet you have." He says as he takes one of Tezuka's hands and plays with it. "I think I missed you too." Tezuka doesn't know how to reply to this. He tugs Ryoma after him into the only armchair available in the room and, as he did with Karupin, spoons Ryoma in his embrace.

"I certainly will come back for this." He purrs contently like a satisfied cat.

Tezuka kisses the crown of his hair, "I will always wait for you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Promises carved on the body**

You can't measure time by the amount of smiles per day, or how many times you held hands when there were no prying eyes to witness, and certainly not by the skips of beat whenever you see him, they say. For Tezuka, time seems to have crawled to a stop. In theory, he is positive is practically impossible to halt seconds, or even better ignore their flow. In practice, knowing that familiar weight snuggled safely in his embrace, everything else becomes vague and unimportant. Time ends. Space caves in.

The most unadorned gestures appear in the sequence of days as intimate as the opening of eyes in the morning. He doesn't want to wash his face, in fear everything is just a dream conjured by his tired mind. Fortunately, the hand tracing feather like lines on his chin seems fairly real. As does the soft hum of appreciation pressed against the nape of his neck. And the closing of the eyelids, the etching of a small smile kissing his skin, and the other hand slunk under his shirt, roving, and, the heat mounting to dangerous degrees?

No matter how eager the other is, he unhurriedly untangles from the tousle of limbs, grappling his shoulders and kissing the tip of his nose, then his forehead, and soon enough he is forgiven. This is called insolence from his part, whim, he is well aware that someday the patience will run thin, and Echizen will get bored of him. No, that is not the problem. Lately, (how should he put it?) he began resisting the notion less and less. Nothing to be ashamed of, he is at the proper age (17 is not too young and not too old either), he is a teenager with normal drives, in love, so where lain the inhibition?

"Wake up, Kunimitsu!" Ryoma frowns, his gaze scrutinizing, and he has always seen through him.

"Sorry, what?" He cocks his head to the side and moves his face a little closer. "You know, you can be really clueless sometimes." _What is he talking about?_ Tezuka musses. _When?_ "Ryoma…"Tezuka argues in vain.

"Shh, I didn't mean it in a bad way." He leans his face on the other's shoulder and starts massaging it with his thumb in careful and tender circles, as if soothing the bit of pain that still resides there. Tezuka exhales, it always calms him.

"Then what did you mean?" As if he doesn't already know. He wants to hear it the more.

The silence starches longer this time. Ryoma puts his arms around him, purposely not replying. They just sit there in the middle of the row of books, on the carpet, hugging, sometime after the closing of the bookshop. It's not very romantic, and not very comfortable either (Tezuka already feels the itch on his left knee), and somehow is the only alternative they have, other than the parks and rarely their homes, when they can have some privacy. It does not matter. To them is their little sanctuary. Their own oasis.

"I will also wait for you." Ryoma whispers.

**~''~**

July. There is a presence that fills every fraction and corner of places, dreams, thoughts and vision. There is solidity, consistency. In a world where the flimsy motives set people apart, like two magnets with similar polarity, he has found persistence. Or it was the other way around. He never knew he was wandering, seeking himself in others, until Ryoma. Can a mingled breath sustain life, or is a heart sufficient to beat for the two of them? When people compare them, Tezuka is not surprised; on the other hand he is certain that the people were blind. They see only what is on the surface, not the essence. Ryoma is Kunimitsu, and Kunimitsu is Ryoma, and there is no compromise.

Tezuka puts another book on the shelf. It's on days like this that he dwells on the decision that made him ignore his better judgment in favor of this frail never-ending reverie. What was the point of no return? The answer is what they seem to continue whispering to each other. Promises. He has learned the rhythm of this relationship, vaguely resonating with him being slammed on the edge of a wood wall, and slowly kissed: on the forehead, eyebrows, cheeks, helix of his ear, nape of his neck, and ultimately on the corner of his lips, teasingly.

For the past three weeks, these kisses have carved a new name on his body, a name that he couldn't forget in these three years. And now when he looks in the mirror, he doesn't see his reflection, but Ryoma's. Two days ago, he couldn't take anymore of that give-and- take game and ended it with their first proper kiss. Yet another promise.

Ryoma gives him another book meant to be placed on shelves too high for him to reach. He hears a noncommittal sigh come from his right. They have been arranging the new books that came that morning under different sessions and authors. Consequently not taking a break yet and it is almost noon. Tezuka is waiting to see when the younger's patience will run thin, and the moment is not far away.

"We need to finish this today, right?" Surprisingly is not what Tezuka was expecting at all.

"Ah. Tomorrow another stack will arrive."

He looks down at his companion to see if he wants to add something, however, Ryoma seems to have no intention to stop anytime soon, and the curios thing is that he puts twice as much determination in every gesture. His eyes are alight as they only are when he is involved in a demanding match.

"You can take a break if you want." Tezuka says, because really it will not help if Ryoma works himself to extenuation.

"I don't need one. You are the one who needs to rest." He admits with a huff. Tezuka frowns.

"Nonsense." Tezuka can guess the little smile that graces Ryoma's lips. In turn he is grateful for this.

Ever since that day, Ryoma has offered to help him at the bookshop. He did not ask something in return. He came in the morning, drinking from his can of Ponta, half asleep, with Karupin in tail. He insisted Tezuka should take a good nap, once in a while. Tezuka knew he could, knew Ryoma was reliable, but his knowledge told him that Ryoma being younger needed the sleep as much as he did. Thus, they reached an agreement, grudgingly; to take a nap together after all the work for that day was completed. They managed to keep that small promise until then.

"Ryoma, you need to eat, you will starve, otherwise." Tezuka advises with a voice that should not leave room for any argument, the tinge of authority almost palpable.

His attempt is met with an obstinate silence. Tezuka reconsiders; he needs to somehow persuade Ryoma into taking a pause, especially with the slump of his shoulders and the tint of tiredness in his voice. If only Ryoma were more cooperative. He will have to work late into the night, regardless it will be worth it.

"We will eat together." This at least gauges a reaction from Ryoma, who immediately turns around and graces him with a curious glance, half in acceptance and half in denial. His golden eyes waver with thoughts that are always visible clues to the inner battle that takes place in his head. Finally, he nods, dumbly, careful to look away from Tezuka, so he can't see his embarrassment. Tezuka knows anyway, therefore doesn't comment on it.

**~''~**

There is a park of sakura trees less than a hundred miles from the shop. They find a bench out of the sun's glare. Tezuka realizes this is the first time they came to this place, though it takes less than a minute to get here. He wonders why hasn't he brought Ryoma up until then? Ryoma was right; he had been too busy lately. Forgetting that there is a world outside.

He passes Ryoma his bento, with fried fish, while his has fried eel, both of them being his mother creations.

"Itadakimasu!" They say at the same time. They look at each other, and there are similar smiles both don't bother to hide. Carefully they probe the food and relish in the exquisite smell of their favorite dishes, the chopsticks held with their left.

"Kunimitsu, your mother's cooking is delicious." Ryoma rarely praises, but now he licks his lips in appreciation, as he continues: "Though only you know this little secret. My favorite food, that is. Arigato." Ryoma leans closer and kisses him on the cheek.

As Tezuka puts the bento boxes in the set, Ryoma stands and when he is ready, offers him a hand.

"Come. We still have a long way to go." Tezuka accepts it, and knows that for now he only needs these small fingers entwined with his, as they return to the bookshop for another round of sorting the books.


	5. Chapter 5

**Goodbye**

* * *

"Hey." Ryoma says as he nuzzles his face in Tezuka's hair. Tezuka can only close his eyes and let him self be assaulted by all these sensations at once. Ryoma's unique smell of grapes and spring, tousled hair tickling softly his ear, this warmth that has nothing to do with the proximities of their skins. No matter how many times he experiences these impressions, each morning they are renewed.

"Good morning." He says and tenderly captures Ryoma's lips.

"What are you working at?" Ryoma leans and peeks over his shoulder. "Hmm, seems rather complicated." Tezuka inwardly smiles, as he guesses the effort Ryoma puts into waking up this early: and trying not being late.

"This is my book. " Tezuka tries not to chuckle at the open confusion adorned on Ryoma's face.

"Oh." He finally takes a seat next to him, leaning his head on his lover. "Read for me."

Tezuka complies. Ryoma listens for a while before he falls asleep, leaning all his weight on Tezuka's shoulder, who decides to indulge it this once. Half an hour of sleep Ryoma will appreciate.

-x-

It is only the next morning, while he is on his way to the bookshop that his world turns upside down. Ryuzaki-sensei calls him, only to ask if he knows anything about some tennis scholarship Ryoma has received. No, he doesn't know anything about it. And, of course he will ask his kohai as soon as he sees him. With that the phone call ends. So does any hope Tezuka has ever put in their relationship?

Ryoma acts like nothing happened. As usually he helps Tezuka arrange the books, stealing kisses, touching his skin at every possible occasion, and his voice doesn't betray anything. Is it just him, or does Ryoma seem to be more opened today? No, he really is more forward. He doesn't want to let go of Tezuka's hand, and is 5 centimeters closer, invading Tezuka's personal space. He doesn't separate from Tezuka's side, not even when he is discussing with the owner.

"Has anything happened?" Tezuka eventually gathers his courage.

"No. Why?" Ryoma promptly responds, his eyes wide and unsettling.

"You are acting out of character. " He breathes out. _Please Ryoma don't lie._

"No I am not. " Ryoma averts his eyes.

"I know about the scholarship." Tezuka reveals, and Ryoma glances at him in shock. "When were you planning to tell me that you are leaving to America again?" He can feel his fury mounting, he tries to calm down.

"I am not leaving. I declined their offer." Tezuka is torn between relief and the real implication of Ryoma's statement.

"You have to accept. A chance like this isn't offered to many. You can't waste it." He hears himself talk, but the words come out from past memories, from what his parents once instructed him.

"Iyada. I don't want to leave you!" Ryoma's eyes are fierce and determined, his hands curled in white fists, containing himself not to cry, to despair.

"Let's be reasonable. I am the one who doesn't want you around." Every word is hurting his eardrum; he has never been dishonest to Ryoma before.

"No. You don't mean that. It's not true!" This is their first fight, Tezuka thinks, the first proof that their relationship wasn't meant to be. He can't take back what he said. This is the only choice.

"I know what you want to do. You plan to sacrifice again for my sake. I won't leave!" Ryoma obstinately concludes.

"I don't want to see you! What other proof do you need?"

"Fine. I will accept it. I never thought you can be such a coward!" He slams the door to the bookshop.

_What we kept promising to each other, will vanish with the setting of the sun. It was never meant to last_.

Tezuka should have known that what they had, defied every law of gravity, like walking on a tight rope stretched out between dream and reality. He cannot ground Ryoma, not when he is meant to fly.

-x-

He has the certainty Ryoma is no longer in Japan. He hasn't registered for any tournament, and it's been three weeks. It was one of their promises to turn pros together. Ryoma is still holding onto that illusion. Why can't he? Because he has lost that right the instant he chased Ryoma away. He hasn't uttered a word ever since. It appears that words hold a power greater than any action. Lethal. Even if he wanted nothing more than to help Ryoma, he betrayed every moment they have ever shared together.

He should have never engaged himself in a relationship that he opposed to from the start. More vehemently when the one he corrupted was two years younger. Should have listen to his wisdom and not convert their bond into something entirely different. Now the damaged is beyond repair. Not that he will ever see Ryoma again. He was supposed to mold and shape his character, to prepare him for life, and not be the one to offer a false ground.

He learned to breathe with Ryoma. And now that he is gone, his throat constricts, all the intakes of air cutting like razor blades. Ryoma had engraved his name all over his skin, and now he feels naked, even with the added layer of his clothes. He was granted the secret of Ryoma's texture, of his smell, his smiles, and his love, and in turn he gave himself completely. Now he is empty. Ryoma left behind only memories that haunt Tezuka's dreams. Being awake is assessing a loss. Tezuka dreams what he cannot forget, who he still loves, who he still wants beside him.

-x-

There are days when his eyes deceit him, when they conjure images he desires with all his heart. Even today, while he arranges the books on shelves upon shelves with half a mind, he can see Ryoma's outline watching him from the park bench they shared. He understands immediately that it is just an illusion. He hasn't slept for days. Thus he is just tired. This Ryoma from outside the windows of the bookshop follows his every move, like a second shadow, white Fila cap in place to hide his clear golden eyes.

As days pass, he becomes aware that he recovers; the wounds begin to heal, only knowing that somehow Ryoma is with him. It's a disconcerting thought that he can feed his soul with a delusion. He tries to avoid wandering near that window, however, on his way home he runs to the park, but no one is there. He is beginning to think that he is loosing his mind. In a short while this place will lose its meaning. He will be in his third year of high school, preparing for his final exams, for future tournaments, engrossing in paperwork and taking his mind off the past. School year begins in a tandem with autumn. Summer is ending…

-x-

They attain their fist victories at the fin of September. The team is knit together as one and is storming almost ravenous after dreams and memories that had led to this last year. They all seem to know that to him it will mean only another promise whispered to the winds, yet that he is willing to keep. He has come to terms with their attempts to lighten him up. Far too many times. Still no one blames him. He wanted them to.

The sun's light slowly fades in the dim of the evening. The club room is bathed in scarlet luminosity. His glasses glint, shadowing his eyes. It's past the hours of training and presumably everyone has headed home. He has not. He sits on a bench, bent forward, musing. He clenches his arms around a tennis ball.

He hadn't done this since junior high. And even then, it was a matter of making the right decision, his arm over awakening Echizen's latent talent. It had been necessary that time, as it was then, and as it is now. What is there to decide?

Surprisingly his actions led only to the hurting of others. His hands tremble over the indentations of the ball. He is left with tons of images that relate themselves to this insignificant object. He had given same yellowish-green symbol to Ryoma as a challenge. Yesterday, a packet came with this same ball, written in permanent marker, a day, an hour and no place. That brat. Tezuka stares at the message imprinted on it: **Saturday, 3 pm**. **Come alone. I'll bring the balls. ** Tomorrow. He already knows his answer.

-x-

Saturday. He has his day full of essays and has planned to visit his grandfather later that day. At 2 o'clock he is already purposefully walking the route that leads to his parents' house. He neglected them now with his studies and the intense training. It took them great deal of understanding when Tezuka took in tennis. They had encouraged him despite their misconceptions regarding sportsmen in general.

Apparently only his mother is at home. As soon as she sees him, she knows. How nothing will ever escape her eyes. "Kunimitsu, needn't you be somewhere else?" His eyes widen a slight fraction, enough to show he is surprised. Otherwise his face is blank of emotion.

"Mother…" He begins, yet the words die in his throat. What should he say? "I shouldn't." I have no right.

"Kunimitsu, everything happens with a purpose. And things should be done properly, not half-heartedly. Your tennis bag says otherwise. You need to be where you're supposed to be. "She admonishes.

"What if I don't deserve to be there?" He voices his thoughts. His mother measures him with a look, quite knowingly. Then comes and kisses him on the forehead. "You'll do fine." As an afterthought, she ruffles his hair." You won't know unless you go." She nudges him forward, as if for the first time encouraging him to make his first steps.

-x-

Haruno clay courts, he concludes, is a good place indeed. He has known it ever since he has seen his own words being thrown at him this time, an echo past years. He never thought he will hear them again. His mother knew him well. In that first second he made his decision. The rest of the seconds were wasted in trying to change it, like trying to alter the course of a river. He had never known how to convey his feelings using words. Tennis is something entirely different. His hand is already anticipating the familiar grip of his racket. As he walks along the diamond shaped tennis fence, the white Fila cap is already in his field of vision. He enters the courts. He is ready.

* * *

**AN:** **I hope you like it so far. Thank you for reading. R&R**


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